Unexpected and Long Awaited
by ThroughtheShadows
Summary: Five years of waiting, searching, and hoping. Half a decade in the dark, unknown. Someone has been lurking in Paris for some time now... My first Gankutsuou fic. Please review. My summary and title are the only things that suck, I swear!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note – **Alright, this is my first Gankutsuou fic. It's a simple one-shot that I've had in my head for a little while now. I – like many others – hated the ending of episode 23, so I decided to write this. I hope you enjoy it. Disclaimer – **I do not own Gankutsuou in any shape or form, nor any of its affiliations. This is written purely for entertainment purposes and is not, nor will it ever be intended, to make any sort of profit.**

Paris. The very name sounded enticing, just like the rest of the city. It had a ring to it that simply could not be defined with meager words. It had a history that echoed its sense of mixture between extravagance and pauper simplicity. It had been known as the City of Lights – both literally and figuratively – for so long, it seemed that none could question the name.

That is, unless, one was like him, whom had been wandering its crowded, dirty streets for the past five years. Five longs years in silence, five years of searching, five years of trying to remember and trying to forget. And he had had such little rest, such little of anything that could perhaps distract him, or grab his pointed focus. Five years. Had five years ever been so long? He who had waited for decades, with a patience that would have driven a weaker willed man to madness?

Under the firm sole of his boots, the cobblestones gave out the sound of his steps. Quiet but firm, unimposing but resolute. He had been searching for leads for the past half decade, making sure to not arouse any suspicion in this city, which was still fairly unstable and eager to vent it's frustration for what had happened not too long ago. Of course Paris needed to vent – it had been bombed by one it's own! So he had searched for clues, scoured resources of all kinds for any sign that could lead him. The underground and the public alike had been equally helpful. Politics, or any sort of government affiliation…not so much, until now. He had finally found a true solid lead.

He peered up from under the shadow of his hat brim, his eyes – weary but determined – looked for his next direction. At the corner he had reached, he turned right, crossing the street. He passed under the yellow amber glow of a dim a streetlamp on the opposite corner, the dark cloak flaring a little about his ankles. Undetected, unsuspected, he disappeared down the street. The cobblestones echoing his footsteps were the only sign that he existed.

He proceeded on his way, turning right two blocks over, where the roads became smoother, the buildings less ramshackled. The streetlamps became more frequent. He still went onward, unbothered if not unnoticed. His posture spoke volumes of humble confidence, but his mind was beginning to turn rapidly. He had pulled himself out of the ashes, both literally and figuratively, and gathered what little of his possessions that had mattered to him. The cloak he wore, the staff in his hand, and enough francs to last him at least ten years, the little essential things. And of course, the most important thing, the little ticking flattened sphere in his pocket, resting close to his chest. That had been the key and prized possession.

He peered out from under his hat and escaping wisps of hair again, reading the numbers on the front of the buildings on either side of him. He came to a halt in front of a red, yellow and brown bricked building, standing three stories tall, with a sufficient distance of sixty feet between it and the two other buildings flanking it. All the windows on the first and second floor were dark, their beige curtains sealed to the outside world. But on the top floor on the farthest left, two long windows glowed, their curtains parted only slightly in the middle.

Still peering up at the windows across the street, he reached into one of his pockets and withdrew a small piece of paper, which seemed to have been ripped from the bottom page of a notepad or something. He flattened it out, careful not to tear it, and inspected the black scrawl across its surface.

_63 Bordeaux Street, West Royale Neighborhood - # 281_

His eyes roamed over the bright windows again, and he felt a faint tingle on the back of his neck. With a slow sigh, he put the piece of paper back into his pocket. Five years. Five years of searching, of trying to remember and trying to forget. Had he finally found him, at last?

Deciding there was no time to waste – though he didn't know why, there was no hurry, no rush – he bid his feet to move, and he crossed the black pavement, stepped onto the concrete, and mounted up the steps. He knocked three times with the iron ring on the door, and waited, his head bowed in contemplation and patience. It had been such a long and drawn out search. His object of focus had almost simply disappeared, dropped everything and left Paris. He couldn't blame him – his name had become almost taboo, and the city had been far from safe, even from its own people. But he had vanished in so little time that tracking him had been a hassle. No one wanted to talk about the name Morcef unless it was to vent anger and stream profanities together, along with other once-proud names such as Villefort and Danglars.

Yes, it had been difficult. The first two years were almost fruitless. The public new almost nothing but rumors, annoying hushed little half-truths, things he had almost lost his temper over. And the newspapers were no better. Oh, how the tales and half-spun spittle's of lies and contempt had made him angry! How many times in the first two years had he wanted to backhand a high and mighty socialist, a worthless prattling sloth, a drunken dock worker, or dim witted sailor? How many times had he had to refrain from putting the fear of God into one of the gutter rats with violence, just to make sure no bit of information would be distorted? He dared not try to count.

The following three years, however, began to trickle some hope into his search. Stories of a new and upcoming ambassador began to leak all over Paris, and soon flooded all of its corners as the press started to suggest that it was more than a rumor. Everyone's mouth was filled with suspicion and expectancy. Listening and reading wherever he went, he had begun to wonder. Was the boy to return? The idea had sharpened him, and his campaign had become more vigorous than ever.

It had been tempting to throw away the airs he put on. The idea of becoming a high status figure of Paris again, of throwing away the mask of a vagabond merchant or traveling ex-priest, and screaming to the city "I'm alive! I have not been defeated!" had crossed his mind one too many times. But he had kept mostly quiet. The only change he made was to inquire more frequently about the return of the traitor's son. He began vacating the pubs for longer hours – he never had more than half a pint, half a glass, it almost hurt too much to have the liquor flood him with memories – waiting, listening for any sign that the boy had come home.

Then finally, the higher ups had finally worked with the press to make a conformation. The new ambassador was indeed the prodigy of the selfish General who had betrayed them all. It was no longer whispered in the back of the rooms, or hissed into one's ear behind a hand. The City of Lights had become the City of Babel. And he had used it to his full advantage. He dissected every word the newspapers could crank out, and interrogated right out in broad daylight on the curb. At first, no one knew the exact date that the ambassador would return or where he would reside. In two weeks, however, he had – like many other Parisians – watched the ship come in from afar, standing on one of the docks, his gaze fixed on the craft. He wondered if the boy had felt like this when the roles had been reversed, actually standing in the port rather than watching the sky from the other side of the city, as his own ship had drew down from space. Oh, what a day that had been, five years ago, the turn of the tide.

His reverie was put on a pause when the door finally opened. A dark haired maid, donning a cap, a gown and a robe blinked at him in surprise. "May I help you?'

"I am here to see the ambassador. Forgive me for the lateness of the hour, but it was of …slight urgency that I came."

The maid blinked. "Oh! Yes, do come in then. I'll lead you to the parlor." She stepped back and opened the door wide enough that he may enter and quietly shut it behind him. She plucked up a candle from the nearby table and escorted him down a hallway, past a set of stairs and into a spacious room. There was a fine mahogany coffee table with a semicircle of high-backed chairs and a decent couch. The maid ushered in and quickly took her candle to light the three on the table and two lamps. "I'm sorry for the lack of light," she stuttered. "We haven't had a chance to get decent power here. So terribly busy with the upcoming coronation and all."

"No need. I understand."

She set her candle on the fireplace mantel between the two lamps then turned to him as he sat down in one of the chairs. "Please wait here. He's been working and I'm not sure if he can spare time. But I will announce your arrival. Forgive my lack of manners. What is your name, sir?"

He almost smiled at the joke but suppressed it and said, "Tell him I'm an old friend of the family."

The maid gave him a queer look but assented nonetheless. She scurried out of the parlor, where he heard her begin to ascend the stairs. He returned to his reverie. Yes, the idea that he had returned home at last had sparked him. An idea had came to him then, watching the ship dip out of sight; If he could find the boy, perhaps…he could find the others? But if he did, even if he did finally see the boy again, what would they say? What would have changed? What had changed? Would they believe that it was truly him, despite his familiar countenance? Oh, the possibilities. How it had began to put the bitter edge in him little by little, known as simply desperation. Not that of a madman, but just…mild eagerness.

He shifted in his seat. His mind had begun to turn a little faster, just like it did when he first plotted out his revenge decades ago, like it did when things had begun to unfold that summer and the little details began to have some significance. Yes, he knew how that felt. He sighed, laying his gaze on the candles on the table before him. There were fewer, and the candlestick was made of tarnished gold, not intricate silver. But it still reminded him of the first night, the prelude as he had called it, when things had turned his way on Luna. Ironic that it was a night not much different than this. The tiny flames seemed to flicker for a brief moment, as if to say, "We know, we know. Have always known."

He watched them so intently that he was almost startled when the maid came into his line of vision. "He will see you now." He nodded and stood, following her out and up the stairs. It seemed almost odd that, although she was two times smaller than he, his footsteps were quieter, as if he were stalking to the room with the lit windows. When they reached the top floor, his back involuntarily stiffened just the slightest. The maid looked back at him only once, almost suspiciously, then stopped at the door at the other end of the hall. She opened it just enough to let her head in. "Your guest, sir." There was a quiet, muffled response and she nodded. "You may go in," she said then walked back towards the stairs.

He paused, his hand on the door handle. Was this really it? The end of a tiring but tireless search, the search that had spanned these last few years that felt like a short eternity? A sensation sprung to the back of his neck again. Calmly, he stepped into the room.

The room itself went hardly noticed by him; the gold fleur-d-lis wallpaper, the white marble-patterned tile, the blue ceiling with its humble silver chandelier, the cream curtains, none of it really mattered. His gaze became fixated straight in front of him, at the cherry wood desk, the two matching chairs in front of it. He took little note of the contents on its surface, the pen, the ink bottle, the two stacks of paper, one on each end, or the photograph which he could not see and did not care for. All that mattered was the one who sat behind it, reading a document with thin silver framed glasses, politely excusing himself for a moment without glancing up, unwary of the one approaching.

Ah, look at him now! So little had changed and yet, everything had changed. The short brown hair was still a slight, organized mess. The blue eyes – of course, those would never change – had remained hopeful, though had lost some of their natural wideness. And the face was as youthful as ever, not so much as the slightest wrinkle. But the differences were there; the shoulders were wider to match a fuller chest, the jaw had become firmer, more distinct but unoppressive. And the hands that had once been a bit small had filled out, the fingers still a bit long. No, he was no boy now. A young man. And wearing a proper business suit no less. He felt his mind begin to whirl.

The document was put down, the pen picked up. "I'm sorry. I've been busy lately." His voice had not changed that much. Interesting. "I've been swamped with paperwork as you can see," he half joked flourishing his signature across a thin line. He looked up as he was about to remove the glasses and stopped. His face became blank with surprise, his eyes growing wide as he slowly removed the lenses. That look hadn't changed either, and he almost felt himself smile. He watched him lean away from the desk, the lips mouthing what could only by a hoarse "My god!", the expression still surprised and becoming more so as he took in the visitor.

As the young man slowly stood up, one hand trailing on the desk as he walked around its edge, he wondered what he looked like to him. A ghost, a phantasma? Some ill begotten presence in the semblance of one who had been a friend and a threat, all in the same breath? A soul that had been sorely missed? Or was it a soul that had brought nightmares, both in waking hours and sleep? Did he really want to know? The smile that he had felt finally crept to the corners of his lips. And the boy, this young man, had grown too. The longs legs now suited him rather than somewhat hinder him. He was probably as tall as himself.

The ambassador stopped in front of him, staring him in the face, as if expecting any moment that he would see through him. He watched the eyes of the young man flicker for the smallest moment. And then a shadow of something dark crossed his face, and the eyes seemed to slightly harden, just a flash. Before he could so much as try to understand the sudden change, there was a fierce impact on the left side of his face, and he went sprawling to the floor in surprise. His hat toppled onto the floor as he landed, and he blinked at the ceiling once or twice before propping himself up on his elbows with a grunt. He looked up at the ambassador, his chest puffed up, straightening his clothes with that familiar indignant look, blue eyes blazing and fists clenched. "Now I feel better," he snapped with a scowl.

For a moment he just stared. And then a grin sprung on his face…and he began to laugh. His head fell back, and his mismatched eyes screwed shut, and he began to roar with laughter. As he did so, his eyes opened again to see the scowl on the ambassador's face slowly twitch into a smile, which then pursed as he tried not to snicker, then finally burst up laughing himself. Their laughter echoed throughout the room as the one on the floor held his sides and the other doubled over with his hands on his knees. They laughed until the younger had to lean against the desk, gasping "I can't breathe, I can't breathe!", and the one still on the floor could only barely reply "Neither can I!"

The maid suddenly swung open the door in a rush, panting. "What's going on in-?!" She stopped, arching an eyebrow at the sight of the two roaring with laughter, particularly at the one with the odd skin pigment. "Mr. Morcef…?"

"It's – it's alright, Marie," the ambassador replied, trying to catch his breath. "It's alright. Please, if you would be so kind, fetch the champagne."

"Champagne?"

"Yes, the champagne," Albert replied, standing up to offer his guest some assistance.

"Two glasses," the former Count added once standing and brushing himself off.

"Two?"

Albert beamed and nodded. "Yes, yes two glasses please, Marie." She shrugged and scurried off with a huff. Albert turned back to the Count – he knew it might be better to call him Edmond but he could only remember him as Count or Excellency – shaking his head. "Uh… Please, have a seat," he murmured, realizing how serious the situation really was, the effects of laughter quickly fading. The Count removed his cloak, picking up his hat to lay it on one extra seat, and sat down in the other. Albert resumed his seat behind the desk, placing the document in one of the piles.

He shook his head, staring at the Count. "How…?" He paused to clear his throat and licked his lips, leaning towards him. "How did you…? I mean…you stopped breathing. And the estate was crumbling right over our heads…!" He stopped and the Count sighed.

"I don't know. I have theories, few and a bit farfetched, but theories nonetheless. Some I doubt more than others."

"Theories? You mean…you didn't…?"

"No, I had not somehow cheated death. Not by my own accord anyway. And I am just as in the dark as you are about it."

Albert seemed on the verge of saying something in response when the door opened again. Marie still in her bedtime attire shuffled in with a small tray bearing two crystals glasses, finely cut, and an unopened emerald green bottle. She sat the tray on the desk, and left the room without another word but plenty of odd glances at the Count. Albert wasn't sure if he saw her make the sign of the cross in the door or not.

"Well, then…tell me your best theory," he said, uncorking the bottle and pouring the Count's glass three-fourths full. "I can only assume by your appearance that-." He stopped short and looked at the bottle almost in an apologetic manner.

"Gankutsuou is indeed part of my theory," the older gentleman replied as he took the glass in hand. "You see, I realized I was alive when I… 'woke up', for the lack of a better word. I remembered almost everything-."

"Woke up?" the ambassador asked, startled. "You mean…You were buried? Under the Champ Ulysses?"

"No. In fact, I was on top of the rubble. It startled me as well. I will tell you my idea as to how and why, but I must explain what I've been doing so as not to confuse you." Albert nodded, looking a bit sorry for interrupting. It was amazing how much his inquisitiveness had remained…

"When I came to, I found myself stretched out under a raining Paris sky. I hadn't been all too confused; I remembered everything that had happened. The final confrontation between your father and I, Haydee, Batistin, Bertruccio, everything. Everything before…" He paused and shook his head. "I couldn't understand, and if anything, I was almost panicked. I had no option other than to get out of the crevice, and before that I had to find necessary items. Considering my condition at the time, it was best that I think about what had conspired between 'wakefulness' and my lack of consciousness at another time – specifically out of the rain." Here a hint of a grim smile flickered over his face and one for Albert as well.

"I scoured what was left of my estate and managed to salvage everything on my person now. My clothes, cloak, my staff, and a few others. I had to buy a new hat of course. It was rather easy finding enough money to last me for quiet some time, whether it be in coins or notes or precious stones. I had enough to survive Paris again. It was the task of getting out of the crevice that was so difficult."

"Did you have to scale the wall?"

The Count nodded. "Yes. I scaled the wall."

"But how? With what tools?"

The Count smiled slightly, holding up one his hands with the back of its palm facing the young man. "Did you forget that I have these?" he asked, the sharp, long dark nails faintly glinting in the light. Albert shook his head, his brow slightly furrowing at seeing the wire-like design on the back of the palm and fingers again after so long.

"No," he murmured. "No, I didn't forget. I just can't imagine trying to climb out of a hole that deep with only bare hands. It must have been at least five hundred feet. And most of it was vertical…!"

The Count sipped the champagne and stared into the glass. "Yes. It was difficult climbing in the rain." He trailed off, remembering that night. Two hundred feet up the side of the giant crater, his cloak and the pouch of money at his hip feeling heavier than usual on the vertical slope. It had been so harsh. The staff had tasted bitter holding it in his teeth – it had been useless as a tool for climbing – and his boots had found hardly any purchase in the damp soil, his arms and hands and fingers had held almost all of his weight. He remembered the rain pelting down, the flares of lightening being the only way to make out the sky from the top of the crater, the dirt slick on his palms and between his fingers…The moment where the slickened wall suddenly crumbled, and he had slid down at least eighty feet before his fingernails had jammed onto an area more solid, the abrupt stop harsh enough to pop his wrists…

Yes. Difficult.

"When I had reached the top, I rested for only a moment. I had no idea if someone was nearby, and I knew that my sudden appearance, after no doubt being reported dead, would be…unwelcomed if not feared to some extent. The city was bound to know about the final encounter between your father and I, and if seen, they would no doubt question me for one reason or another."

"So where did you go?"

"To the nearest, inconspicuous pub I could find," the Count answered. "I used my cloak as a disguise and had the owner of the pub rent me a room upstairs for a few nights. I paid a cheap but reasonable price, he asked no questions, and I had a place to stay until I knew my next step."

"And?" Albert pressed.

"The first thing I did was find out about you and our comrades. I gained information by supposedly drinking in the late hours and just observed and listened." His face furrowed slightly. "I found out that Fernand was dead, buried like I was to have been. You and your mother, and Haydee with Bertruccio and Batistin, had all escaped from Paris…_three_ _months_ before I had returned to consciousness."

Albert blinked in surprise, his glass midway to his lips. The Count continued. "It was a rather morbid bit of news to me. It meant that finding you and the others, knowing that no one would have any idea where you all had dispersed to, was practically impossible. Had I the privilege to toss a purse or two to greedy men to help me track you, I would have done so. But, as you might know, my name became…dangerous." He paused. "Several former party members, who had some loyalty left in them for your father, had obviously linked Haydee's appearance to me. They had, in some sort of desperation and anger, blamed me for Fernand's plan to bomb all of Paris." A short smirk touched the Count's lips. "I found it quiet ironic that the blame of his actions had been laid on me again. Nonetheless, I was not so popular in the city anymore, let alone in the country. And so…I went into a sort of hiding, until I knew I could take full action."

"When was that?"

"About two weeks later. I couldn't track you all down by ship or any sort of actual transportation. However, I did begin searching for you another way. I started inquiring for any sort of clue I could possibly find. Not outright of course, not at first. But with some time, I was able to find out what had happened between my return and the disappearance of the rest of you. There were plenty of complications of course. But…it was something."

"So…that's what you've been doing for the last five years?"

"Yes."

"Then…what is your theory? I mean, how in God's name did you survive?"

"I asked myself that several times during the two weeks before I started asking around. At first, I theorized that perhaps my heart had not been harmed, that the wound from your father's sword had simply delayed in bleeding, that he had somehow missed major organs, something along those lines. But I had to throw that idea out the window. He was an experienced swordsman, he wouldn't have missed. I thought that maybe it was just part of Gankutsuou's process of fading, or trying to gain control again. That was, I knew, unsatisfactory. So finally I settled on something…fairly practical."

The Count sighed and sat his glass on the desk. "I believe…that Gankutsuou had not completely vanished. If anything, he realized that if I died, our deal would be nothing to him. And so his doubts redoubled, even in his weakened state. I believe that he somehow managed to help my body withstand the collapse of the building and, in my oblivious state, began healing the area in my heart that would have surely killed me. I now think that sometime after all wounds were taken care of, he literally dug my body out of the rubble with whatever power he had left – by controlling my body to save itself."

He closed his eyes for a moment before beginning again. "This is the only way that I can explain it. The fact that I'm alive, my delayed return, waking on the rubble instead of below it, and of course, why my appearance has not changed from what it was half a decade ago that summer. I can see by your expression that you have questions." The Count smiled as Albert nodded a little embarrassedly. "Go on," he encouraged the young man.

"If it was indeed Gankutsuou who revived and sustained you for those three months, and your appearance hasn't changed…?" Albert trailed off.

"You're suspicious that I am still under his control," the Count stated calmly after a moment. The ambassador nodded with some reluctance. "I can assure you, I am no longer under his will. He has not left me, I know that much. However, after bidding myself to do as _I_ pleased and needed these last few years, I'm almost certain that he cannot retain control nor the power he once had. He refuses to perish and dares not try to claim another desperate soul with a healthy form – or he simply cannot manage the task. He is simply stuck."

He looked up at Albert with a small smile, reaching for his glass again. "Satisfied?"

"Well, yes. But there is one more thing."

"Yes?"

Albert took a long sip of the champagne. After setting down the glass he locked eyes with the Count. His eyes had a slight edge to them as he looked at his gentleman friend. "I want you to answer me in all honesty. Do you still seek revenge, Count?"

The Count's smile grew but not sinisterly. "Ah, of course. I should have expected this." He sat his own glass back down next to Albert's, pulling at the front lapel of his over-shirt. His hand plunged into what could only be assumed as an inner pocket. Albert watched intently with suspicion, half expecting a weapon of some sort to be produced. When his hand withdrew from the folds however, the item was completely concealed by his palm. The Count sat it on the desk solely in front of Albert, locking eyes with him for a brief moment, before drawing back into his seat.

Albert looked down and started slightly. Then his shoulders slumped and a sad smile graced his features. "You…you actually have it. After all this time." Almost unwillingly, his hand stretched out, the tips of his fingers brushing the gold surface with nostalgia. The slight tarnish and the tiny dent on the underside didn't escape him. Nonetheless, he shook his head at how many memories is stirred in him.

"That was the first thing I looked for when I came to," the Count explained softly. "I took it to a fine jeweler about a month after I started my search for you all. It's amazing how…it can be almost impossible for a man to part with some of the damndest things." Albert opened the watch with a soft _click_. Another surprise – the glass was intact, and the hands still ticking. "Once the jeweler fixed the gears and undent what he could, I took it to another craftsman." The Count watched the young man examine it. "You notice the slight warps in it don't you? The whole glass piece in there now…is from the exact shards of when it was shattered."

Albert looked up. "Haydee sent Batistin back to collect the pieces some time before our duel. She insisted that I take them," the older man explained. "I didn't care too much about it then…"

He stood up as Albert closed it shut again. The Count went around the desk and the ambassador stood up as well. "I don't want revenge anymore, my friend," he said shaking his head, his voice low. "I've had enough. I'll have no more of the schemes from that summer." He held the young man's hand, the watch held between their palms. "This is no longer a prop. Years ago it was to hold a moment in time. I mean that now. Instead of suspending the carnival of Luna in time, it will commemorate and hold this night as the hour in which I swore – and you swore, if you will – to never harbor the desire for vengeance again, and to put the unwanted past firmly behind us." The Count's face was both grim and earnest now. "Is this…permissible, my friend?"

Albert glanced down at where their hands held the watch. His eyes flickered for a minute or two. Then, clearing his voice quietly, he looked up the Count, clasping his other hand over both of theirs. "It's more than permissible. I swear it."

The Count appeared to sigh heavily with relief. "Oh, thank God!" he murmured quietly. For a moment they stood together like that, until they let go, smiling, and the watch still in the young man's hand. Albert looked down at it, and his eyes lit up.

"Say Count…have you heard of what's to happen two days from now?"

"If you mean the negotiations of peace with Janina, then yes, certainly. You're one of the members to conference with their leader if I'm not mistaken."

"That's right," Albert assented and nodded. He sat the watch back on the desk between the two glasses.

"What of it?"

Albert shrugged. "Well, you know, just something I was thinking about. I heard a little rumor during my travels that a certain spacecraft of yours with three passengers escaped to Janina a little before I left Paris." Albert smiled as the implication sank in.

"You feel up to a trip with me?"

**Author's Note – **I know, it's really long. But I just couldn't make it any shorter. I tried to avoid OOCness, and also tried to maintain a certain style that fit the series. Overall, I hope you liked it. Let me know if I should put in a second chapter with what happens on Janina, and please review. I'm dying for reviews.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes – **Alright, sorry for not updating sooner. But I've had Gankutsuou on my brain a lot so I've been plenty motivated. I would like to thank **Sound of Crescendo **for leaving a review. I really appreciate it. Hopefully I can promote this series enough to start converting people to the fandom. Hopefully I'll get more reviews for this one. Disclaimer – **I don't own anything, nor do I claim to do so. Gankutsuou and all of its affiliations belong to their rightful owners.**

It was rather quiet behind the cathedral that early morning. The grass was a bit damp with dew, and the purple veil of stars was still draped across the sky, the cosmic lights dangling from tiny silver cords, almost begging to be cut… The hem of his pants and the tops of his shoes were damp as well, along with the hem of his long coat. Albert paused on the grassy gravel path and turned to face the familiar monument. Somewhere in his mind he noticed how well the keeper had done his job. How little it had changed since five years ago he had kneeled before it…

Albert sighed bending down to lay the lilies and roses in hand on the marble. When he straightened a sharp breeze cut across his surroundings and he turned up the collar closer to his neck. He shoved his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched slightly. The lamppost a few meters away cast both splashes of amber light and formed shadows on him and the slab. The breeze dashed for a moment more then slowed.

As the young man stood there, the Count came through the gate by the cathedral, latching it shut behind him quietly and followed a path parallel to the one the ambassador had taken. When he was a few meters behind him he paused as well. With a mixture of curiosity, caution, and solemn respect he watched the still figure before the marble monument. It had a very sobering affect on him and a memory or two flashed in his minds eye. Albert had still not moved.

After a few moments more, the Count moved forward between the rows to stand only a meter behind him. He saw Albert's head turn a fraction of an inch in his direction. "You can come closer. It's not like he can bite you now," he said with the smallest crooked smile. The Count almost winced but bowed his head instead. He knew the words were not meant to be callous or bitter, but to his ears it did. Slowly, he approached the monument to stand by the ambassador, his eyes locked on the marble. The letters engraved on the stone seemed to leap out of the stone at him, begging for his attention almost vengefully.

**FRANZ D'EPINANY **

They both sat there in silence for a moment or more, staring at the grave. They were both solemn, each in his own way. After a few minutes passed, the silence was broken.

"I never underestimated the boy. He was on to me right from the very beginning, even before either of you had so much as laid eyes on me. From that first night on, I knew he was suspicious of me, and highly intuitive to my…ambitions. His uncanny judge of character made the rest of your relations seem naïve, if I may say so." The Count bowed his head a little farther. Albert turned his head slightly to look at him.

"But… I never gave him enough credit, either." There was another long pause until the Count raised his head slightly. "He would have been a good man."

Albert stared at the solemn expression on his old friend's face, the grief-tightened corners of his eyes, the hard thin line of his mouth that he had seen many times before, years ago. He may have not said it out loud but Albert knew what His Excellency was saying.

_I'm sorry_.

Albert stared for only a moment longer then turned his attention back to the grave. Somewhat to his own surprise, one corner of his mouth yanked up into a melancholy smile. "I disagree." The Count quickly turned his gaze on the ambassador in surprise, a look of utter question and perhaps suspicion in his mismatched eyes. Albert held his gaze for a moment then back at the bold letters. "He already _was_ a good man." The Count nodded but said nothing. The breeze kicked up again and two or three petals wrenched themselves from the roses, skittering away across the marble and the graveyard.

oOo

'_It's finally done. Our people have finally made peace._'

Haydee smiled softly as another official representative of Earth approached her, bidding her farewell with a polite gesture as well as a nod and a smile before following the line of other officials out the door. For two days it had been nothing but peace talks; lines had been drawn, old wounds had been healed if not at least scarred over a bit, the prospect of even better trade had begun, and of course a solid treaty had been signed. Many of the officials, both of Janina and Earth, had commented on how surprised they were that it had been as simple as a minor couple days of negotiation to mend their long feud. She had not been surprised though. She knew how bitter, festering sorrows and hatreds made negotiation seem impossible to ones own self. She knew all about that…

"You haven't nodded off on your feet, have you Princess?"

Haydee smiled at the voice directly behind her and the little jibe. "No, Bertuccio. I'm well awake." She glanced over her shoulder at the tall servant before turning back to front to speak. "To think…that it's done. That I have helped ease my people…" She felt emotion seep into her heart, trying to overtake her.

"You have done superbly, Princess. I'm certain that your father would have been very proud."

"Thank you," she whispered over her shoulder.

The line of officials had begun to dwindle, and soon the last of them was being ushered out the door. She turned to the table where only moments before talks had taken place, her eyes scanning over each seat. The polished surface reflected the wide ceiling overhead, the thin tall windows, except where one or two papers had been left behind for her. She almost started when a lone figure at the far end caught her attention. From where she stood, she could not fully make him out.

"I apologize, Sir, but the negotiations have come to a close. I'm afraid that you cannot stay here any longer."

"Really? Five years and I can't visit the lovely lady I considered a friend?"

Haydee's eyes narrowed, uncertain first then softened as the young man stood to approach her. She smiled lightly. "Albert. It's wonderful to see you again after so long. Especially as since we didn't even get to say goodbye properly." Albert, dressed in a fine grey suit, bowed with a smile once he was fully in front of her. "And look at how tall you've grown! You tower over me," she stated. "But how could I have missed you during the negotiations?"

"I just joined the talks today. I'm serving as more of a witness than a participant. I didn't even need to speak."

"I see. Well now that you're here, I certainly couldn't find it in myself to turn you away without so much as a word of how you've fared since I saw you last."

"Although I would certainly hate to intrude…I was kinda hoping you'd say that," Albert joked. He glanced at a motion behind Haydee that caught his eye and his smile grew. "Bertuccio! Baptistin! I'm certainly glad to see you! All the better…," he murmured the last statement. "You two look like you haven't changed by one bit.'

"Can't say that about you," Baptistin smirked, as usual. "It's not fair that you're a bit bigger than me now, kid."

"I'm not all that bigger than you, I assure you."

"And doesn't young Monsieur look rather well-off," Bertuccio commented, flanking Baptistin. "I heard tell that you became an ambassador. How long ago was that?"

"Ah, not long. A few months, not much more. I'm still adjusting but I'm looking forward to a decent living. And what of you four? How have you been since you moved here into the palace? And where is Ali anyway?"

"Ali's somewhere on this floor, probably waiting for the princess for orders," Baptistin shrugged. "And to be honest, it hasn't been all that much different here than what it was like serving His Excellency in Paris -. Oh." Baptistin stopped short, scratching his head as he glanced at Haydee. Albert noticed the slight shadow over her expression as well. "With…one major exception of course," Baptistin finished with a sigh. "Forgive me, Princess."

"It's alright, Baptistin." Haydee sighed and stared at the floor. After a moment of quiet she spoke. "Ever since I began to take an active role as leader of Janina…No. Ever since I left Paris, I've been wanting… I've been wanting to somehow…To somehow honor _him_. To do something that I'm certain he would have encouraged, as he had encouraged me before." She paused again, as if to compose herself. "I've thought of him often. His memory is no stranger to me. And…"

"He'd be supremely proud of you, Princess Haydee," Albert smiled, an unknown look in his eye.

"I would hope so," she smiled. "But I'm not so sure that you should sound so certain. You have no way of knowing that," she stated, still smiling.

"Oh, I would believe so," Albert replied, a glint in his eye that the others could not make out.

"Well, believe what you want. Please, Albert, there is no need for such formality between us, you don't need to address me by my title. It's been tensely frivolous these past few days as is. I encourage you to be a bit more lax during your visit here. Please, follow me. I'll have Ali prepare us some drinks. Any preference?"

"I've heard countless times that the tea here on Janina is excellent, but haven't had the chance to try it. Do you have any?"

"We have more than plenty to share. You'd actually be doing us a favor. We're a little overstock with it," Baptistin smirked.

"Ali," Haydee called over her shoulder to the hall. The mute alien leaned into the doorway. "Some tea, please. And fetch the fine china as well." She turned to Albert. "Should I have him set the tray for two, or…?"

"Actually, I brought someone I think you _really_ need to see," the young ambassador smiled.

"Set it for three, Ali." He nodded and went away.

"So tell me, Albert, where have you been all these years?"

"After you four left, I actually went away myself," he stated as they began to move to the hall. "I secured a place in Marseille for my mother before I left Paris. She refused to leave the country but couldn't stay in Paris either. Maximillien gave me his word that he would keep an eye on her from time to time. She's doing well the last I heard."

"So where did you go?"

"I escaped to Luna with what fortune I dared to take with me. It seemed like the best place to stay and rebuild a career and life for myself, until I could return." Albert smiled. "It was probably the first _good_ choice I made in a long time." He shook his head and continued. "Luck would have it that I met some minor bandits – old friends of Peppo – who helped me get a foot in the door of political life. I started out off the radar almost, but after some campaigning, I was soon on the fast track of where I am today."

"Bandits helping you get into the political world? That sounds like something that would happen on Luna," Baptistin joked.

"I know. 'When-I-met-bandits-on-Luna' is beginning to become the prelude for most of the stories in my life."

The four of them met Ali in the hall, the tea set sitting on a table against the wall. "Thank you, Ali," Haydee smiled. She turned to Albert motioning to the china. "Is this set suitable? I wouldn't want to make a bad impression on our other guest."

"No, it's perfect. I don't think you could make a bad impression on him if you tried."

"You've been so strange talking about this visitor," Haydee said with a raised eyebrow. She picked up one cup of tea, wanting to be a good hostess by giving it to the unknown guest herself.

"Well he's been dying to see you," Albert smiled. He gently placed a hand on her back to steer her down the hall. "He's just in the room down here, the parlor. And he knows _quiet_ a bit about you, Haydee…"

Bertuccio and Baptistin watched the two make their way down the hall. "Good grief, he shot up, didn't he? Never thought I'd see him again, especially this soon." Baptistin sighed and turned to the tray.

"At least he's done better for himself. Obviously he didn't get his hands as dirty as his father's. Politics is a nasty business," Bertuccio replied, busying himself with setting the tray for the guests. "But I do wonder…"

"What? You really think the kid could have gone rotten or something?"

"No. I'm more concerned about this mystery guest. Albert has been blatantly hush-hush about him."

"And?"

"Perhaps I'm over-reacting, but just who in hell did he bring - ?"

Bertuccio was cut short as a gasp sounded down the hall, followed by the sharp crash of shattering china. Both of the men started and began heading down the hall.

"Shit! The princess!"

The two raced down the hall, one hoping that the former boy had indeed not gone corrupt, and the other confused and worried. The larger of the two fingered the sheath of a large knife at his belt as they drew closer to the parlor, hoping he wouldn't have to use it. The door was still wide open, as if to call them quickly in. Bertuccio was the first to reach the parlor and slammed a hand against the doorframe, hoping to startle the potential attacker and also slow down his own momentum.

"Princess Haydee -!" Bertuccio stopped short, halting as if frozen with one foot in the room. He blinked once twice… But the image before him would not change. He peered over the rim of his glasses, blaming a possible distortion – a tremendous distortion – in the lenses. No. No the room stayed the same. Baptistin skidded to a halt behind him, slipping under his arm to try to enter.

"Albert, what's the big ide-!" Baptistin too, fell short. "What…the…?"

The scene seemed impossible, but it was there. Albert stood next to the door, looking at the floor and grinning from ear to ear. At his feet lay the remains of the fine china cup, looking fragile and insignificant as the tea began to soak into the lush carpet. The high-back chair, coffee table, cushions, rug, and divan had not been moved the slightest. And there, not more than a meter or so away, stood the princess with her arms wrapped around the other man, her face buried in his chest as silent sobs shook her frame. A familiar, tall man with mismatched eyes – soft with emotion now – and oddly blue skin and flowing hair.

"He's…!" Baptistin couldn't finish his sentence, only stare.

"I told you, you _really_ had to see him," Albert stated quietly at the two in the door.

They glanced at him. "Why didn't you-?"

"Would you have believed me if I had told you before now?"

"No. No, not likely," Bertuccio murmured, still stunned.

"But how…?" Baptistin pointed at the man with a confused look. "I saw him. I saw him d-!"

"It's a long story," Albert cut in quickly. "In fact, I think I'll tell you about it outside," he grunted trying to push the two of them out the door – and failing to hardly budge them. Bertuccio stared a moment longer before connecting Haydee's condition and the young ambassador's less than subtle suggestion.

"Yes, do tell." He stepped back and Albert almost lost his balance.

"But…!"

"Leave them be, Baptistin," Bertuccio hissed in his ear. He yanked slightly on the servant's collar before following Albert down the hall. "We can ask questions later."

Baptistin scowled, glanced back into the parlor…and sighed. "Fine. _You_ spill it, Albert."

"Very well. But bare with me if it get's a bit confusing…"

oOo

It had been too long. Far too long since he had seen her, held her, _touched_ her even, or heard her voice. But not once had he ever forgotten the young girl, the almost soulless doll that he had shared his home and life with. She had been so fragile then. And how delicate and fragile she felt now in his arms, crying mutely. How horrible was he that it pleased him to hear her after all these years, even though it was to hear her shed tears? How horrible, indeed.

He silently thanked Albert for the discretion as he cradled her against him, hushing her gently from time to time. "It's alright, Haydee. Everything is fine." It occurred to him then that he had not held her like this since…since five years ago just before he left her to finally confront Fernand. He felt so foolish now. "It's alright," he assured her again. She remained there for a moment more then stiffly pulled back, just enough to look at him.

"I can't…believe…" She bit her lip before suddenly slightly scowling. "Oh look at your shirt. I made it a mess! I'm so sorry," she sputtered as she appeared to search for something to wipe it clean.

"Haydee," he chuckled, grabbing her wrists. "Stop, stop." She hung her head, sniffing. "I come back from the supposed dead after five years, and you worry about the state of my shirt? Hmm?" She made a small whimper. He smiled softly. How he had missed her. "Everything is alright, Haydee." She wilted a little with something akin to relief and she rested her brow against his chest.

"I'm…sorry."

"Now stop saying that. You've done nothing wrong." She sighed as his hand – bare, nothing between them now – smoothed her hair. "I don't want to hear you say sorry again. Do you understand?," he said softly. She nodded, faintly. He shook his head. She was so obedient, even now, that it almost hurt.

After finding the boy again, after having made peace, his pointed focus had shifted. It had gone from the young man to her, just as one's attention turned from the moon to the sun as the time shifts from night to day. As soon as a ship to Janina had been confirmed, the young princess had been on his mind. All the memories he had of her – from their first meeting in the dirty streets of Constantinople to the image of her face, horribly twisted with sorrow as the Champs Ulysses came crashing down – had possessed him as thoroughly as the demon had ever done.

And he had been so uncertain of this moment, how they – she in particular – would receive him. Knowing that she was here, that is was her palace, and she was simply down the hall had made it painstaking for him to wait for the negotiations to come to a close, and for Albert to guide them in the right direction for their reunion. The moment she had come through the door and laid eyes on him, and the sound of shattering china rung in their ears, he knew that there was nothing to worry about. This had only been affirmed as she had thrown herself into his arms with a sob, so much so that he nearly lost his balance.

The Count continued to cradle her to him for a moment longer before holding her at arms length. He peered at her face and took her hand in his to slowly twirl her about. "My God," he murmured, shaking his head. "Look at you!" A laugh slipped from her and she drug her sleeve to absorb the tears, letting him turn her slowly about. Bringing their hands down, he stopped her, smiling. "What a beautiful, stunning woman you've become." One of her tears disappears as he brushes a finger over her cheek. "Just as I knew you would."

Haydee holds his gaze until the rising blush on her features becomes too much and she glances down at the floor until it subsides. He never looks away, never stops smiling. He knows that he has lied – her beauty surpasses his highest expectations. But hadn't she done the same in everything else? He watches her brow furrow with question.

"If you haven't been…gone, all these years then…?"

"Trying to find you," the Count replied simply. Details could come later. They had more than enough time for many long stories now. "But now is not the time for my story. No doubt the others are waiting for us, and I have yet to see the rest of your home."

She nodded. "Of course." She smiled. "We have a lot of catching up to do."

"I'm all ears, my dear." As he gently placed his arm about her shoulders and allowing her to lead the way, it dawned on him that he loved her. No longer as just a companion, mentor, and guardian. He felt love to her as he had not loved in years, decades even. And with a small smile, he realized that such love as this he had never felt even for Mercedes. For the first time since his bitter imprisonment, he felt alive, Edmond Dantes resurrected in a sense. Everything finally felt total and complete. Haydee was where he belonged now.

Haydee woke him from his epiphany by speaking. "I suppose I'll start with my homecoming and end with the sudden rise of suitors," she said with a petit laugh.

"Suitors, yes," he murmured his expression darkening slightly, before smirking. "I want to know _all_ about them…" And they headed out the door, towards the rest of their lives.

**Author's Note – **I'm sorry that it's shorter than the last one. And I couldn't help shipping the Count and Haydee as a pairing, like they were supposed to be in the book. But I did my best. As a side note, I assure you that Edmond did not go back on his oath with Albert and exact revenge upon the poor, hapless suitors. I simply couldn't resist showing the Count's former deviant side, which I admire and sort of missed in the previous chapter. I apologize for the delay, and please be kind enough to leave a review. I'm still trying to improve on my writing skills and I need feedback for that.


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